


seven devils (i can't get enough of)

by personal_jesus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Abusive Relationships, Angst, Darkfic, M/M, Nogitsune, Stockholm Syndrome, Violence, dark!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 05:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7087912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/personal_jesus/pseuds/personal_jesus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I swear he didn't look human-like. Calling him a human would be more than an insult - too trivial, too obscene, too low and high at the same time, if you really believe that Hell is somewhere underneath. But he was higher than anyone I've ever known. High enough to look at my brain, at all my weaknesses and sins from the bird's eye and conduct me like a damn puppet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	seven devils (i can't get enough of)

**Author's Note:**

> _"Holy water cannot help you now,_  
>  Thousand armies couldn't keep me out." - Florence and The Machine.

In The Bible he's called Lucifer, the fallen angel, the God's son that went to Hell for his desire to become God himself. In Argent's bestiary he's called Nogitsune. 

I call him Stiles Stilinski. 

Too beautiful to be real, too disgusting to be holy - he was never a human. The shell that convinced us all that it was nothing but a real human being was only a vessel for the darkness in its true disgiuse, only a preparatory process to lose oneself and become just a painful memory left in distant corners of my mind where nobody could see and wasn't going to look for. 

He took care about that, too. He didn't want them to look for. 

And I took pride of a place of his first victim. That wasn't a test of his own abilities (nobody doubted them; everybody knew what he was capable of, some of them even had the pleasure to watch), that was a privilege - to be marked by him, to have every part of your body bitten by him, to be tortured and beaten from the head to the toe, from the torn consciousness to the neck that was cut into pieces: that was his fetish of some kind. _I wasn't his toy_ , I thought desperately, trying to catch on that thought and hold onto it as it was an anchor of salvation, but the remains of common sense were laughing at me so loudly and cheerfully, sharing indulgent glances and derogatory grins. 

_"Naive."_

His games were dirty and unfair, spontaneous and unpredictable: he knew with such horror I anticipate his visit every night, he knew how much I'm afraid, how much I hate and long for him, he fucking knew it. 

Those were the days he just laughed at me and didn't let me touch myself. 

"Oh come on, alpha sourwolf, show me your fangs," he teased Stiles' manner of speaking and that made me want to _vomit_ , scream, beat his way too perfect face to blood, but I knew I could never do that. Stiles knew that as well. 

He knew that it would just take him a confident and demonic look in my eyes, just a slight touch of his lips to mine to make me a gutless animal - take me, do whatever you want, you can even kill me right here and it's not like I would mind that so much. 

He really was an embodiment of sin, but the most graceful, cruel and twisted one: he was the Pride with his chin lifted up and literally burning eyes, he was the Greed with his calculated glance and the thirst of touching, he was the Envy, ready to kill anyone who touches me, he was the Wrath, tearing me apart and spitting curses to my face, he was the Lust, making me breathless with his both rough and gentle fingers and the wet warm month, he was the Gluttony when he couldn't get enough of basically anything on Earth, he was the Sloth, procrastinating my murder from day to day, he was the Gloom when he cried at my feet (just to trick and win over me again, giving me his demonic grin). 

The bastard literally got up from the depths of Hell to torture me, to let me irrevocably fall in love with him and make me long for him so much it hurt, making me a victim of a stockholm syndrome. 

And to make me believe that I'm so important that I made Lucifer get back to Earth. 

This was even funny, so we both laughed at my idiocy, at my helpless desire to be equal to him, at me in general, like nothing else in the whole world could be more ridiculous and humiliating. 

I wanted to spend eternity with him and his endless torture, so one night I asked him to strangle me. 

He agreed with a smile, whispering: "I'll have a special place for you. You'll be lying right under my feet."

And if this could be considered as happiness, I might have been the happiest among the living.


End file.
